Deadly Competition (Without a Trace) Page 6

  He went back through the shop, hunkering down to flip over random scraps of paper with the tip of a pen, and re-checking the locked gun and jewelry cases, which had been undisturbed.

  Behind the counter, the safe was still locked, with no evidence of tampering on the heavy steel. Who would break into the shop, if not to steal the merchandise or money? No one, except…the murderer…or Leah.

  He scanned the room, searching for anything different from the last time he’d been here. Anything—

  His gaze fell on the door to Earl’s office. Since the man’s death, no one had been inside except Clint and the investigators, and he kept it securely locked.

  But now, the doorknob twisted easily in his hand, and the door swung open with a harsh creak of rusty hinges.

  Even from the open doorway, two spattered walls told the story of the gunshot that had ended Earl’s life, and the cleaners hadn’t totally washed away the grotesque, dark blood stain that had soaked deep into the worn floor.

  The room was small and dimly lit by a single, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Piles of odds and ends were jumbled into every corner, while towering stacks of cardboard boxes filled the back wall.

  A path meandered through the wreckage of Earl’s life to a small clearing for his desk, which had been piled high with papers on the best of days. Earl had insisted that Leah come in and keep the place dusted and swept, but how she’d managed with so much stuff in the way was nothing short of a miracle.

  It had all been left in even greater disarray following the murder investigation, though Clint had returned many times since, searching for outstanding bills that had to be paid to protect Leah’s property and finances—and clues, not that he had found any.

  Nothing looked any different from the last time Clint had been here, trying to put the papers in some semblance of order. Except…

  He took a second glance at the four-drawer metal file cabinet next to the desk. The bottom drawer was shoved nearly closed, though it was askew, and the tip of a file protruded.

  As much of a mess as the room was, Clint’s eye for balance and order had been his mantra in construction, and even here, he wouldn’t have left that drawer ajar. Without latex gloves handy, he grabbed a rag from a nearby bucket and tugged on the drawer.

  It didn’t budge, and now he could see a faint dent on the front—as if someone had kicked it shut. He pulled harder, and suddenly it opened with a screech.

  The protruding file was empty. And whatever else had been behind it was gone.

  While Clint waited for the one of the county deputies to arrive, Mandy drove to Bitsy’s and parked in the shade at the edge of the parking lot. “Are you hungry, sweetie?”

  Sarah barely nodded. “Where’s Unca Clint?”

  Mandy unbuckled her car seat and helped her hop out of the vehicle, then knelt in front of her to tie an errant shoelace. “He’ll be coming along if he can. He—” She caught a flash of motion from the corner of her eye and turned her head sharply.

  Branches rustled in the thick brush at the back of the parking area. A twig snapped.

  When Mandy glanced back at Sarah, the child’s face was dead white. “Did you see someone?” Mandy asked, keeping her voice level. “Someone you knew?”

  Sarah gave a single, nervous shake of her head, her gaze fixed on the underbrush.

  “Some kids, maybe?”

  Sarah’s lower lip trembled.

  There were several other cars parked in the lot, but no one else was in sight. And even though it was broad daylight, an uneasy sensation—an awareness of danger—slithered down Mandy’s spine.

  She summoned up a smile and playfully took Sarah’s hand, then walked quickly toward Bitsy’s, her uneasy feeling intensifying with every step.

  At the front door, she took a steadying breath to calm her racing heart and glanced back.

  There was no one following her.

  Nothing moved back in those trees.

  Had it just been her imagination, fed by Sarah’s obvious fear?

  Stepping inside the building, Mandy eyed the other patrons, then led Sarah to the back booth and sat facing the front door. With all of the colorful Loomis Mother of the Year Pageant posters plastered on the front windows, she didn’t have a clear view of the street, but sitting in the back would still give her a few seconds’ head start if she needed to escape. She could grab Sarah and slip out the rear exit, if need be.

  Her empathy for the child deepened. With all Sarah had lost—and with the horrors that she may have seen—it was no wonder that even the smallest things frightened her. It was probably fortunate that she couldn’t read yet. What would it be like to see those pageant signs plastered all over town as a constant reminder of your own mother’s disappearance?

  Nonnie ambled over with a coffeepot in one hand and a set of menus in the other. “The job is working out, I see,” she said with a broad smile. “I’ll bet Ms. Sarah would like her usual—right?”

  Sarah nodded shyly.

  “And you, Miss Mandy?”

  Her appetite gone, Mandy glanced at the plastic-covered menu, barely seeing the words. “A-a cheeseburger, I guess. With fries and a Coke.”

  Nonnie pulled some crayons from a pocket in her apron and handed them to Sarah. “You can color on your place mat, sweetie.”

  While Sarah colored, Mandy kept an eye on the front door and let the day of her arrival in Loomis play through her mind. Would that bus driver remember her? The ticket clerk back in Atlanta? Or was her skittishness because of the incident at the pawnshop making her paranoid? No, she knew that Dean would pull out all the stops until he found her.

  The more often she was seen in town, the more easily she’d be recognized by the residents. And if a stranger showed up asking too many questions—

  Nonnie appeared with chocolate milk and Mandy’s soda, her gaze following Mandy’s to the front of the café. “You expecting someone?”

  Mandy suppressed a shudder. “No. Not at all.”

  “That ole bus you rode into town on don’t come by but once a day, early mornin’. And there ain’t been anyone come by asking after you, just in case you’re curious ’bout that.”

  Mandy felt her tension ease. “No…but thanks.”

  “If someone does, I’ll pass the word.” Nonnie gave her a knowing look and leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Man trouble, would be my guess. I’ve been down that road myself, in my younger days. Made wrong choices, didn’t know any way to get out.”

  “W-what did you do?”

  A soft smile lit the older woman’s face. “The Lord was walking with me every step of the way, and He answered my prayers. Since I wasn’t too observant, I didn’t see it at first and I got angry and real desperate, thinking He just didn’t plan to bother with the likes of me.”

  Mandy knew that feeling well. “So…what do you think He did?”

  “God answered my prayers by sending the right people into my life and giving me courage. One after another, people helped me when I needed it most. Happenstance, you might say, but there were just too many for that to be. They had information or contacts I needed. Or they lifted me up when I was down. I found out how to get in touch with the right authorities and was led to a lawyer who does some work free if you can’t pay. Then I made a plan, and I was finally able to escape that life. I learned I was worthy of more than living in fear.” She sighed, her face glowing with contentment. “I know this place don’t seem like much, but I’m safe, and I have a happy marriage to a sweet, honest man who shares my faith. Life is good.”

  Mandy felt a warm flicker of hope spread through her. She looked around the old restaurant, and now, instead of shabbiness, she saw the loving touches—the homemade curtains, the bouquet of wildflowers up by the cash register. The gleaming floors and spotless light fixtures.

  “That’s a beautiful story,” she said quietly, feeling ashamed of her critical first impressions of the diner and its waitress.

  “Don’t you worry none. Cli
nt will watch out for you. And if you talk to the Lord about your troubles, He’ll be with you every step of the way, too. My favorite Bible verse says to pray about everything, and I surely do.”

  She rested a comforting hand on Mandy’s shoulder, then wandered through the diner filling coffee cups before disappearing into the kitchen.

  A moment later, a crowd of teenage girls barreled into the diner, shrieking with laughter. They crowded into the next booth, teasing each other about boys, as close as Mandy could tell.

  One of them lifted a hand and pointed to the poster on the wall. “Is your mom still entered in the pageant, Lacie?”

  “Nope. With all that trouble this spring, she said she wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “My sister Jillian backed out, too.” Another voice piped up. “She got an anonymous phone call and decided it just wasn’t worth it.”

  “And that lady who works at the daycare—Wow!”

  “Who knew tossing bleach at someone would do that?”

  “And the creepy thing is that the guy was wearing a mask. He could be someone we know!”

  After a chorus of nervous laughter, they fell silent for a moment.

  “My mom says that lady’s eyes might never be totally okay. Why would anyone hurt someone else over a stupid contest, anyway?” Lacie declared. “Like, who cares?”

  One of the girls snickered. “I heard someone nominated Leah Farley as a joke. Wrote up the big ‘Aren’t I wonderful?’ essay and everything.”

  They all hooted with laughter. “Yeah, right—like a killer is going to win!”

  “It was a joke, stupid.”

  Mandy stiffened and shot a glance at Sarah. Had she overheard? The child was still bent over her coloring book, industriously drawing. She debated for a moment, wondering if she should quietly take Sarah and leave, but the girls’ conversation turned to the senior prom and graduation gifts, and then Nonnie reappeared with two plates. The rich aroma of cheeseburgers on freshly baked, yeasty buns filled the air.

  “Here you go, ladies.” She beamed at them. “Enjoy!”

  Sarah bowed her head even lower over her coloring, pressing a blue crayon against the paper in widening strokes until the crayon snapped in her hand.

  “Sarah?”

  She attacked the paper again with the stub of crayon. But when she tilted her head, Mandy could see she was crying.

  Mandy called out to Nonnie for some take-out boxes, then slid into the booth next to Sarah and held her close. “We’ll go home to eat, okay? We can put on Animal Planet and that will be lots more fun.”

  “I want Momma back,” Sarah sobbed. “Why can’t she come back?”

  A stunned silence fell over the girls in the next booth, followed by a flurry of whispers.

  One of them hovered over the back of the booth, her cheeks aflame. “We’re sorry. We didn’t…we didn’t realize.”

  Then one by one, they slid out of their booth and left.

  A few minutes later, with the bill paid and a paper bag in hand, Mandy took Sarah out to the truck. “We’ll have a picnic. How about that, sweetie? We can put a blanket on the floor, and—”

  There was a piece of paper under the driver’s-side windshield wiper, fluttering in the breeze.

  An icy hand clamped down on Mandy’s heart. Please let that be from Clint.

  With a smile fixed on her face, she buckled Sarah back into her car seat, then grabbed the paper and slid behind the wheel, hitting the locks the instant the door closed.

  Her palms turned damp, and she felt her pulse trip as she unfolded the paper and spread it out against the steering wheel. The scrawled words had been written with such force that the paper had torn through, but the message couldn’t have been clearer.

  YOU AIN’T WELCOME HERE. LEAVE OR YOU’LL DIE, TOO.

  Die, too? Like the poor souls who had been murdered in January? Or was this some sort of ghastly joke left by those teenagers, in childish retaliation for their embarrassment?

  The other possibility was the one she didn’t want to even consider—but it was the most likely of all. Dean could be here. Watching. Waiting. And wanting her to run….

  So that she’d be easier prey.

  SEVEN

  Deputy Aaron Bertrand didn’t show up at the pawnshop until after three o’clock, and he didn’t seem particularly concerned about Clint’s concerns when he got there.

  “So you found an open window?”

  “Exactly. It was closed and locked as of ten o’clock last night.”

  The deputy looked up, his pen poised over his clipboard. “Broken?”

  “Jimmied.” Clint led the way to the window and pointed out the deep gouge marks. “The guy was pretty gutsy, breaking in during the day. I heard him scramble out this window to escape.”

  The deputy rocked back on his heels. “What’s missing?”

  “That’s the weird part. Nothing of value, far as I can tell. They passed over jewelry and guns, and just took files from a cabinet in Earl’s office. The entire contents of the bottom drawer.”

  Bertrand looked up from his clipboard, a bushy eyebrow raised in question. “What was in there?”

  “I’ve been making sure Earl’s outstanding bills are paid on time until Leah comes back, so I’ve checked those drawers. That one just held receipts and records of pawn transactions from several years ago. “

  The deputy frowned. “There were a lot of lowlifes hanging around the pawnshop last winter. Maybe Earl was involved in some bad business before he died.”

  “He had a clean legal record, Aaron. You know that.”

  “Maybe one of his ‘friends’ had him fence stolen goods, and it was a chance to make extra money. Maybe the guy got nervous about the evidence when he heard Earl died.” The deputy jotted down another note. “Or this could’ve been someone looking for cash or merchandise to barter for drugs.”

  “Just files were stolen, Aaron. Nothing anyone could sell.” Clint took a steadying breath, wishing for the hundredth time that Special Agent Pierce and his fellow agents were still in Loomis and actively involved in the Loomis murder cases. “No bank records, credit card statements or investment records, either, so nothing useful for identity theft.”

  The officer sighed heavily. “I’m going out to the patrol car for a kit, and I’ll try to lift some prints. With luck, this guy left some good ones, and he’s already in the system.”

  A perfect scenario, in a perfect world.

  But after more than four months of dead ends, Clint knew this probably wouldn’t pan out, either.

  It’s been a long time, God. Please watch over Leah and keep her safe—and help us figure this out before it’s too late.

  After the incident at Bitsy’s, Mandy drove Sarah to the safety and quiet of home with one eye on the rearview mirror and the cell phone Clint had given her within easy reach.

  Several attempts at asking Sarah for a description of what she’d seen in the bushes just upset the child, so then Mandy opted for a line of cheerful conversation.

  Her efforts elicited little response from the girl, who now dozed in her car seat, twisting her doll’s ponytail in her small fist. The silence gave Mandy time to think. Should she tell the sheriff? Clint?

  The most plausible source of the note was the gaggle of sharp-tongued girls, given the timing. Just a silly high school prank carried too far.

  But if Dean had found her, would he stalk her, using intimidation and fear? Or would he boldly confront her on the street and proclaim to any onlookers that he was an investigator and had come searching for her?

  At Clint’s house, Mandy roused Sarah and carried her inside, locking the door behind them. She then set up a picnic on the living room floor with a bedsheet. “I’ll bet you’re really hungry now,” she said with a bright smile.

  Sarah yawned and nodded, then dutifully sat next to Mandy and stared at her cheeseburger without touching it.

  “I suppose it’s too cold by now? Can I warm it up? Or can I get you something else?�
��

  Sarah barely shook her head.

  “Grilled cheese? Peanut butter?”

  No response.

  “String cheese?” The child still carefully avoided too much unnecessary contact. She hardly ever accepted a snuggle while Mandy read to her. But she looked so forlorn, so small and lost, that Mandy felt an overpowering urge to pick her up for a big hug anyway. “You seem really sad, sweetie. That makes me sad, too.”

  Sarah seemed to sink even deeper within herself, her emotional withdrawal all the more obvious.

  “Can we talk about it?”

  That earned a faint shake of Sarah’s head.

  Growing up without siblings or her own mother, Mandy’s experience with children and maternal care had been limited to a handful of babysitting jobs with kids so rowdy that she’d quickly shelved thoughts of such summer jobs, and she’d started working in her father’s upscale furniture store at fourteen. The lush carpets and hushed atmosphere there had rarely been violated by children—probably thanks to the pricey knickknacks on every flat surface, inviting small hands to touch.

  Never had she felt her lack of experience more acutely than right now, faced with a child who desperately needed help.

  “Your daddy says you visit Mrs. Jocelyn sometimes. Your mommy’s friend?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Does she talk to you about being sad?” Mandy leaned forward, her elbows propped on her thighs.

  Again, a silent nod.

  “Does she help you feel better?”

  Sarah swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around her middle. A tear traced down her cheek.

  “Do you remember what she says?”

  “M-momma loves me always.” Sarah fought back a sob. “No matter what.”

  “That is absolutely true.”

  “E-even if sh-she’s in heaven with Daddy.”

  Oh, dear. Mandy blinked, fighting her own rising emotions. She struggled to form the words of a silent prayer, asking for guidance, hoping that, for once, God might listen to her—if only for the sake of this sweet, innocent child.